


A Fool's Bargain

by deacertes



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: BAMF Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, BAMF Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon-Typical Violence, Forced Prostitution, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Men Crying, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Slavery, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Virgin Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deacertes/pseuds/deacertes
Summary: Based on this kink meme prompt: What if Nicolo and Yusuf hadn't travelled together in a truce. What if in the first village they passed Yusuf sold the beautiful stranger for a bag full of silver and went on his way. Years later he returns to the village having been drawn back by the memory of those green eyes and finds himself broken hearted by the sight of the stubborn crusader broken down and debased and resolves to save him/falls in love with him.****I tweaked it slightly as I can't envision a universe where Yusuf would sell someone permanently for a bag of silver. I tweaked it a bit more as the Nicolo who lives in my head is the guy who calmly shot two men with one bullet and would probably gut anyone who tried to debase him.****There is no non-con between Yusuf and Nicolo, and Yusuf has no idea of how bad things are going to get for Nicolo when he leaves him in this story. Believe me, the bad guys will be very sorry when he finds out. Please read the tags carefully. There is some non-con referenced in this. It's oral and it's off screen, but it's there.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova/Other(s)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1

Travelling with Nicolo is irksome, Yusuf thinks. The man is ill suited to the climate and collapses from the heat almost every other day. He has virtually no knowledge of the surrounding fauna and flora and cannot be relied on to know what is edible and what is not. Likewise, he cannot speak any of the local dialects, and scarcely understands more than a handful of words if spoken to him.  
  
Yusuf is forced to converse with him – when he must – in Greek. This is also irksome.  
  
Worse still, even stripped of his armour, Nicolo is instantly recognizable as an invader, particularly with his strange light eyes. All too often Yusuf finds himself embroiled in in arguments and conflict with his own countrymen to protect the Frank from their anger.  
  
It feels like fate is playing a terrible trick by binding him to this man. Days turn into weeks, which turn into months, and Yusuf still cannot soften his heart. Not when he has to bear witness to the destruction and suffering left by the invading armies.  
  
It weighs heavily upon him. He struggles to sleep; he can barely keep food down. Why is he still alive when so many of his people are dead? Why does the Frank live, when innocent women and children do not?  
  
His anger festers. He doesn’t care to see the shadows under Nicolo’s eyes, or the way the man picks at his food. He doesn’t pay mind to how Nicolo weeps through the night, or how he sometimes vomits when he sees what his people have done.  
  
Matters finally come to a head one day when they make a stop in a town to replenish their supplies. Wherever possible Yusuf prefers to avoid settlements, since it’s all too likely Nicolo will bring trouble down on them both by virtue of just standing there.  
  
But some supplies require the necessity of civilisation, so Yusuf weathers the stares and drags Nicolo through the streets with him. In the past he has thought to leave the man out of sight, but somehow Nicolo always manages to attract trouble. Invariably, Yusuf returns to find him either dead, dying, or reviving, often with others lying dead or dying around him. Even worse, whatever belongings he has been entrusted with will either have been stolen or destroyed in the skirmish.  
  
Far better, Yusuf reasons, to keep the man where he can see him. So, he barters with what meagre coin and wares they have, while Nicolo hovers uselessly nearby. They are thankfully soon done, and it seems they may be able to depart this town without bloodshed. However, as they pass a metalworker’s stall, Yusuf’s gaze falls upon a particularly beautiful dagger.  
  
He lost his when Nicolo had aroused the ire of a group of men who had then seen fit to rob and murder them. Upon reviving, they were able to track the men and recover most of their belongings, all but the dagger, which had already been traded.  
  
This dagger would be a worthy replacement. Yusuf knows he hasn’t the coin for it, but perhaps the man might be open to trade for something.  
  
First the man wants their horses, which is just ridiculous. Then he asks for Yusuf’s scimitar, and Yusuf almost scoffs at that; he is hardly going to trade a trusted blade for a dagger, no matter how well crafted. Then the man eyes Nicolo’s blade, and Yusuf considers it, but then reasons that the Frank will be even more of a burden if he cannot defend himself. Such a trade will most likely result in him eventually giving Nicolo the dagger, and no doubt the wretch will then lose it in a fight.  
  
Then the man makes an offer that makes Yusuf pause. He could use a worker, many of their young men went away to fight, he says, most did not return. Nicolo, he notices, has broad shoulders and large hands; he is perhaps a little sickly, but that might be remedied if he is not travelling through the landscape. Nicolo can sleep in the workroom. He can earn his keep and the cost of the dagger through hard, honest labour.  
  
“For how long?” Yusuf asks.  
  
The man looks surprised, like it hasn’t occurred to him that Yusuf might want Nicolo back. Yusuf isn’t altogether sure that he does, but there is something about this deal that sits uneasily with him.  
  
“Five years.”  
  
Yusuf blinks at this and shakes his head.  
  
“Two.”  
  
“Four.”  
  
“Three.”  
  
The man pulls a thoughtful expression and nods. They shake on it, and the man goes off to fetch the dagger. Leaving Yusuf to explain the details of the deal to Nicolo.  
  
He anticipates shouting, a stark refusal, possibly violence.  
  
What he gets is far worse. Confusion and fear flit across Nicolo’s normally impassive face. Then his shoulders drop, and he simply nods with a look of dull-eyed resignation.  
  
The man returns with the dagger, and it is on the tip of Yusuf’s tongue to refuse it, to say that he has changed his mind. But the man is already handing it over and clamping a meaty hand onto Nicolo’s arm.  
  
“You’’ll not be needing that,” the man cautions, indicating Nicolo’s blade.  
  
Yusuf sees how Nicolo’s hands shake as he unbuckles the scabbard, and he feels sick. His own fingers are numb as he accepts it. He tries to meet Nicolo's gaze, but Nicolo keeps his averted.  
  
“Three years!” Yusuf calls out in Greek, as Nicolo is led away. “I will return for you in three years.”  
  
Nicolo doesn’t bother to acknowledge him.  
  
Feeling inexplicably angry, Yusuf stomps back over to their horses. He is momentarily at a loss when confronted with two mounts, but he straps Nicolo’s blade carefully to the second and grabs its reins to lead it away.  
  
He doesn’t look back.

*********

Free of the burdensome Frank, Yusuf should feel relief. He doesn’t. Likewise, the dagger brings him no joy. He cannot even bring himself to look at it. Worse, he cannot bring himself to part with it, so he is forced to conceal it among his belongings. He had abandoned Nicolo with nothing, not that the man had much of anything. But his travelling cloak and water skin were with his horse. Yusuf knows it would be wise to sell them; instead, he keeps them safe.  
  
His sleep remains troubled. He still suffers from nightmares, and now he struggles to get any kind of rest. The Frank was a light sleeper – when he slept – and was able to alert them to any trouble. Now Yusuf is obliged to try to listen out for himself as he curls up alone by his campfire.  
  
He talks to his horse. More so than usual. He now also talks to Nicolo’s horse. The damnable animal stares mournfully at him with liquid dark eyes, as though blaming him for its master’s departure.  
  
But that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? It is his fault that Nicolo isn’t here. He has abandoned the man to an unknown fate. Yusuf tells himself that three years working bellows in a forge is hardly the worst way to compensate for being part of an invading army that slew thousands.  
  
It doesn’t help.  
  
He keeps riding. He has no destination other than forward. His dreams torment him. When he’s not dreaming of his own death, or the screams of the dying, he dreams of two strange women who fight side by side in a country he doesn’t recognise.  
  
They’re the kinder dreams. The ones featuring Nicolo jolt him awake in a cold sweat.  
  
Eventually, after more than a year of aimless wandering, Yusuf finds himself at the coast. He stands and gazes out across the sea, the blue-green ripples glint beneath the bright sunlight. His fingers itch for the materials to capture its beauty.  
  
No, he realises with sickening dismay, not the sea, but something that same mutable shade. Nicolo’s eyes. The same eyes he once found strange and unsettling. Now he experiences a pang of longing in his chest, suddenly desperate to see them again.  
  
He wastes no more time. He remounts his horse and with Nicolo’s still in tow, he heads back the way he came at a canter.  
  
If his travels were wearisome before, they are worse now that he has a destination. He wants to be there yesterday, which is of course impossible. But the knowledge that it will take at least another year is all but unbearable. Night finds him on his knees screaming at the swathe of stars overhead, begging Nicolo to know that he is coming, pleading for the man’s forgiveness.  
  
Time and distance have cauterised his grief from the war. The scar remains, but it’s no longer a festering wound. For the first time, Yusuf can see how Nicolo had never taken any joy or pride in the horrors his army had inflicted. He can see that Nicolo wept for the lives lost and the lives ruined; how his body carried the hallmarks of shame and contrition. In his mind’s eye he sees the dark shadows under Nicolo’s, he sees the man’s gaunt jaw, concave belly, and bitten down nails.  
  
His grief and guilt give him additional strength, and he pauses his journey only to allow the horses to rest. He dozes on the horses back during the day, and when its safe continues his travels through the night. He encounters landslides, bandits, poisonous snakes, and scorpions. He presses on. He revives and kills the bandits, taking them by surprise. He digs his way out of the landslide. He ties himself to his horse when the snake venom wracks his muscles with convulsions. He dies and he lives.  
  
Almost two years to the day he left Nicolo to the mercy of a man he neither knew, nor understood, Yusuf arrives back at the forge.  
  
He looks around anxiously for Nicolo, but of the other man there is no sign. He thinks about calling out. However, the fear that Nicolo might flee from him if he is forewarned renders Yusuf mute. He steps inside the work area, there is a back room, but it’s empty. Footsteps alert him to someone’s approach, he spins around quickly, one hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar. It’s the metalsmith.  
  
“Can I help you?” he asks, gruffly.  
  
“Nicolo, where is he?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The man I left in your charge,” says Yusuf, trying to keep the worry and anger from his voice. “Where is he?”  
  
He sees the moment comprehension finally dawns on the other man.  
  
“Oh,” he says slowly. “It’s you. I didn’t think you’d be back.”  
  
“Well, I am.” Yusuf speaks through gritted teeth. “So where is he?”  
  
The man shrugs.  
  
“I lost him.”  
  
Yusuf’s face clouds with confusion.  
  
“You lost him? How-"  
  
“In a wager.”  
  
The man shrugs again and rubs at the bristles on the side of his face with a meaty paw.  
  
“Pity really, he wasn’t a bad worker.”  
  
“You wagered my friend?”  
  
Yusuf can barely force the words past the lump in his throat.  
  
“Friend?” the man echoes, incredulous. “You traded him for a dagger.”  
  
Yusuf throws himself forward and with the same momentum, propels the man backwards until he’s pinned against the wall. The man is taller and bulkier than Yusuf, but he is no match for Yusuf’s rage.  
  
“Yes. And now I want him back.”  
  
The man swallows hard.  
  
“You said three years,” he tries.  
  
“I’ve changed my mind. Where. Is. He.”  
  
“I told you, I lost him in a wager.”  
  
Yusuf tightens his grip on the man’s tunic and bounces him off the wall a little.  
  
“To who?”  
  
“Akram.”  
  
“Who?!” Yusuf shouts, furiously, because he is going to need more than that.  
  
“He owns the whore house,” the man bawls back, but he’s more unnerved than angry.  
  
Yusuf releases him and takes a step back. He stares at the man, and then at the ground, and then back at the man. Unable to fully comprehend what he has just been told.  
  
“You gave Nicolo to a whoremaster?”  
  
The man nods, belligerent now that he’s no longer being held against the wall and Yusuf’s wrath has been replaced by bewilderment.  
  
“Nicolo,” Yusuf repeats. “You made him a whore?”  
  
The metalsmith scowls and tries to mitigate his actions.  
  
“I don’t know what Akram did with him.”  
  
He flinches and shrinks back when Yusuf draws his blade.  
  
“Kill me, and the whole town will be hunting for you,” he reasons.  
  
The murderous glint doesn’t fade from Yusuf’s eyes, but he does hold off from immediately gutting the metalsmith with his scimitar.  
  
“I am going to find my friend. If you speak a word to anyone, I will come back.”  
  
Yusuf places the tip of his blade against the man’s throat, pressing just hard enough to break the skin he draws a thin line of red.  
  
“You do not want me to come back,” he threatens.  
  
Then he leaves. He doesn’t trust himself in the man’s presence a moment longer, but the metalsmith is right, his death will draw too much attention and he cannot help Nicolo if he is imprisoned.  
  
He staggers out into the street, putting away his blade only to avoid drawing attention to himself. He feels an anger so all consuming, he literally shakes with it. The mere thought of Nicolo…  
  
No, he will not think of it. Nicolo is young and strong, there are a multitude of uses a man like Akram could have for him.  
  
He’s also beautiful, Yusuf’s treacherous inner voice tells him. Those pretty sea-coloured eyes, and his mouth, the strong line of his jaw. Yusuf groans and doubles over, almost retching.  
  
He sways and forces himself upright, then sets off to find the whorehouse.  
  
It isn’t hard to find. People lean back from him when he asks for directions, perhaps sensing his rage, but they provide the answers he needs and that is all he cares about.  
  
He tries to contain his emotions before he enters the building. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Not until he has Nicolo. However, it proves almost impossible when the brothel keeper tells him of a Frank with a gifted mouth, who he can hire for a handful of coins.  
  
“You can fuck his throat,” the man tells Yusuf, blind to the danger he is courting with his words. “He won’t bite, he knows better.”  
  
This is added with a wink that almost spirals Yusuf into a killing rage. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands until they bleed and heal, over and over.  
  
“That sounds good,” he hears himself say. “I will take him.”  
  
He hands over his coin, and a woman takes him up a narrow flight of stairs and along a corridor. She raps on a door and calls through it.  
  
“Another one for you.”  
  
Then she leaves.  
  
Yusuf finds himself standing alone in the corridor, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He puts out a trembling hand and turns the handle. Opening the door, he steps inside.


	2. Chapter 2

The room is so small he almost collides with Nicolo as soon as he crosses the threshold, and the shock of that almost has him backing out into the corridor. But he locks his knees and wills himself to look into the eyes that have haunted him day and night since he left.

Nicolo is staring at him like he is a ghost made flesh. His mouth is moving soundlessly, Yusuf cannot make out any words, only that he seems to be saying the same thing over and over. A prayer or a curse?

Then Nicolo shudders and his legs seem to give out from under him. He stumbles backwards onto a narrow cot crammed in against the wall, where he sits, trembling and staring up at Yusuf.

Yusuf pushes the door shut without taking his eyes off Nicolo. He has imagined their reunion many, many times, but never like this, and he does not know how to speak or act. He feels his eyes start to burn and his throat tightens.

The half-shuttered window throws harsh shadows over Nicolo’s face. He is thin, but no more so than when Yusuf left him. His eyes glitter with the same feverish intensity. His hair is perhaps a little longer, falling past his shoulders, but the most startling thing is he is clean shaven. Yusuf has never seen him without a beard or at least a goodly amount of scruff. Now his cheeks are smooth; the dark spot stands out starkly against his pallor.

He still looks shocked and Yusuf thinks he can read something else there, disbelief. Did he not think Yusuf would return for him?

The horror of that saps the last of Yusuf’s strength and he sinks to the floor with a low moan.

This causes no small amount of alarm in his erstwhile companion, who slides off the cot to crouch beside him. Nicolo’s hands flutter about, but they don’t make contact with him.

“Yusuf, are you ill? You must not kneel here. Not you. Yusuf, please.”

Yusuf makes a hoarse exclamation.

“Kneel? I should throw myself at your feet and beg your forgiveness for all eternity.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Yusuf stares at Nicolo as a sudden realisation sweeps over him.

“You’re speaking my language.”

It’s beyond wondrous to hear that voice speaking his own tongue.

“Yes. I learned.”

Green eyes narrow into a much more Nicolo-like expression.

“It’s been two years, Yusuf.”

Yusuf can almost hear what Nicolo doesn’t say. It’s been two years, of course I learned to speak it. How else could I survive without you to act as my interpreter and guide.

Yusuf’s guts twist when he thinks of Nicolo isolated and alone for all that time, and bile rises in the back of his throat when he thinks what other skills Nicolo has probably been forced to acquire.

“Why are you here now?” Nicolo sounds genuinely puzzled. “Did you not say three years when we parted?”

Yusuf cannot bear it. His face crumples as he starts to weep in earnest. He pushes his clenched fist into his mouth to try to muffle the sobs for fear of someone bursting in.

“Oh, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmurs, gently. “Here, come. Come. Take my bed.”

He helps Yusuf to his feet. Yusuf finds he can barely manage his limbs at all and allows himself to be steered over to the cot. He is pressed down onto a thin, straw filled pallet as he continues to weep. Nicolo’s hand rubs his back in what is probably intended to be a soothing manner, but it only makes Yusuf sob harder.

“Please, Yusuf. Will you not tell me what is wrong?” Nicolo begs.

Yusuf tries to calm himself, if only because he cannot bear to be responsible for putting that note of fear into Nicolo’s voice.

He rolls over onto his back and sees Nicolo still crouching on the floor.

“No, no,” he mumbles, protesting the wrongness of this. Sitting up he gently draws Nicolo up from the floor to sit beside him.

“First, I must beg your forgiveness.”

Yusuf gently places two fingers against Nicolo’s lips when he thinks the other man is about to voice an objection.

“I did you a terrible wrong, leaving you as I did. I feel an agonizing shame that I would treat you in such a manner.”

Fresh tears spill down his face as he speaks.

“I will ask nothing of you. I know I do not have that right. Only perhaps, do you think one day you might be able to forgive me?”

Nicolo is still staring at him without any kind of comprehension.

Yusuf lowers his hand; it’s shaking.

Long calloused fingers close over it, trying to stop the tremors.

“Forgive you? Yusuf, what-?”

“I sold you,” Yusuf hisses, furious at himself beyond measure. “I traded you like a horse. No, like you were something less than a horse, for I refused to trade them. But you-“

He pauses and carefully turns his hand over, threading his fingers through Nicolo’s.

“I traded away the most precious thing I had,” he whispers. “Your companionship.”

He hears Nicolo’s shakily indrawn breath, and the fingers entwined with his spasm and tighten.

“Yusuf, there is nothing to forgive. I… my people did yours a terrible wrong. A wrong that can never be undone. If by doing this, I was able to show you how much I regret my part in it, then I will allow myself to be indentured for a hundred years. Longer, if you so will it.”

“Never,” Yusuf declares, fiercely. “Never again.”

The corners of Nicolo’s mouth tic with a tiny, confused smile.

Yusuf scrubs his free hand over his face and gets to his feet, pulling Nicolo up with him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“What? No.”

“What-?” Yusuf repeats, shocked.

Nicolo’s face has settled into an expression that’s unfortunately all too familiar to him - sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.

“You are not staying here another year.” Yusuf has to fight to keep his voice low. He waves his free hand around the room. “I don’t even understand why you’re here.”

Nicolo sneers.

“What? You would have had me refuse their order and fight?”

“Yes!”

Nicolo yanks his hand back, balling them into fists by his sides.

“And then what?”

Now it’s Yusuf’s turn to be confused.

“Perhaps I die, and then I revive, and they see it. How do you think that would turn out?”

Yusuf blanches.

“Or perhaps I win, and I escape. Where would I go? Where would I go, Yusuf?” Nicolo's voice rises, forgetting himself in his anger. “I don’t have anyone but you. I don’t know this land. You left me with no horse, no money, no weapon. I didn’t even have my fucking cloak. Should I have just stumbled out into the dessert to die over and over? And what about in three years, if you returned for me? How would we find each other? How would I find you, Yusuf, if I did not wait where you left me?”

Nicolo is crying now, tears trickling steadily down his cheeks. His voice is clogged with them.

Yusuf draws him onto his arms without a second thought.

“I would find you. I would search the whole world over for you if that is what it took. I will always find you, Nicolo. Know this, I will never be parted from you again.”

Nicolo stiffens when Yusuf first touches him, but now he sags into Yusuf’s arms and buries his face into the curve of his neck. Yusuf feels his skin dampen with the heat of Nicolo’s tears. He presses Nicolo tighter against him, fisting the thin tunic that covers his friend’s back.

“Never again,” he vows. “Never again will we be parted from one another.”

“I missed you,” says Nicolo, brokenly. “I missed you so much, Yusuf.”

“I missed you. I thought I would die from it,” says Yusuf. “I think perhaps I did.”

Nicolo lifts his head. His face is blotchy, his eyes reddened, making the green even more startling.

He is the most beautiful thing Yusuf has ever seen. Then he realises he just said that out loud. Aghast, he opens his mouth to apologise, but Nicolo is smiling.

“You aren’t angry?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo shakes his head. The pink mottling his skin is now only partly from his prolonged weeping, Yusuf thinks.

He finds himself smiling back. What he wants more than anything is to kiss those gently curving lips.

“Nicolo, can I kiss you?”

Something in his heart twists when Nicolo jerks back, shaking his head.

“Nicolo?” he asks, suddenly uncertain. Nicolo is no longer looking at him.

“You shouldn’t,” he says, shame colours his voice. “Not yet. Not until I am clean.”

Oh, Nicolo.

Yusuf catches him under the chin and gently tilts his face up. He brushes his thumb across Nicolo’s lips.

“Your mouth could never be dirty. I will count myself blessed if I am permitted to kiss it every day.”

This time when Yusuf leans in, Nicolo meets him halfway.

It’s almost chaste, the barest pressure of lips, but there is an undercurrent there that makes Yusuf burn.

They grin at one another, bashful and delighted.

But then Nicolo’s expression turns sombre.

“You will have to go. You have been here too long.”

Yusuf stares at him in disbelief.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“I can’t leave, not yet.”

“But why?”

“Akram is not a good man.”

Yusuf resists the urge to make a scornful sound, because yes, he has gathered that much.

“Many of the women here did not enter this house willingly. He either took them, or their families are in debt to him.”

Nicolo sighs and takes hold Yusuf’s hands, cradling them against his chest.

“Please understand. I want nothing more than to leave with you. But they will not let me go easily and others may be hurt if we try to fight our way out. Also, I may have promised to help them.”

“The women?”

Nicolo nods.

Yusuf lets out a soft huff.

“My love, you may be the kindest man I have ever known. But you cannot ask me to leave you here to be… used by these animals. We can find another way to-“

Nicolo cuts him off.

“-They haven’t.”

Yusuf is nonplussed.

Nicolo looks uncomfortable.

“They haven’t used me. At least, not like that.”

“But the man at the door said-“

“They use my mouth,” says Nicolo, hurriedly. “I have been here three days, and in that time, they have used only my mouth or my hand. It is… unpleasant … but I have suffered worse.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw as he stares at Yusuf, as though defying him to say differently.

“Three days?”

Nicolo nods.

“I lived with Tahir, the metalworker, and his family for almost two years. He was not unkind to me. His children taught me to speak your language. But he likes to make wagers. He would say to me: ‘Nicolo, which roof will that bird land on. Nicolo, which way will this coin land.’ But he did not just make them with me, and the debt he owed to Akram could not be paid. He feared Akram would demand one of his daughters, but he took me instead. I think it amused him, the idea of defiling a Frank.” (Nicolo had long since given up trying to explain to anyone that he wasn’t).

Nicolo’s mouth twists.

“Then he discovered I was chaste, and he found another use for me. That’s where he has gone. He’s ridden to the next town. There is a man there he owes money to, and my defilement is to be offered to him in trade.”

Yusuf feels sick.

“How did he know that you were untouched?”

“I told one of the women,” says Nicolo. “I wanted to ask what I would be expected to do.”

“And she told Akram.”

“They’re afraid of him. She thought to gain favour by telling him. I hold no malice towards her.”

No, Yusuf thinks, of course you don’t.

“Do you know when he will be back?”

“No. He left this morning. I am to earn my keep with my mouth until his return, that’s all he said.”

“Nicolo, don’t you see. He could return today. He might bring this man with him, and then they will…”

Yusuf can’t even bring himself to say the word.

“I have been trying to speak with the women, to see if I could get any to help me. I was going to kill Akram when he returns, but I would need help with his men. But the women are so fearful of him, and it is hard to know who to trust.”

“You’ve been here three days, and you’ve spent it trying to rally others to join an uprising in a whore house?”

Nicolo nods.

“My love, you are a wonder.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me,” says Nicolo. He looks uncertain.

Yusuf frowns.

“My love. You say I am your love.”

“Do you not want to be?”

Nicolo’s smile is like a sunburst, Yusuf has never seen the man smile so broadly.

“Yes. I want that. Of course, I want that, Yusuf.”

“Then you are. My love. My heart. My reason for existing.”

Yusuf follows up his declaration with another closed mouthed kiss. This time he lingers, unwilling to end it.

Nicolo gently pushes him away.

“Leave, Yusuf. When Akram returns, then we will make our move. He must not suspect anything is amiss. Most of the people in this town are in his employ, but I believe it’s fear not loyalty that holds them. If we can kill him, and those few who do serve him willingly, they will be free. As will I.”

But Yusuf sways closer, until their foreheads touch.

“I cannot bear to leave you like this. Knowing I was instrumental in putting you here.”

“No,” says Nicolo, firmly. “You thought you were leaving me to work for Tahir. None of this is on you, and Yusuf, we can do good here. We can help these people.”

Yusuf wants to weep. The kindness of this man crushes him. It cuts crueller than any knife to walk away from him again.

“Nicolo-”

“I love you,” says Nicolo.

The words pierce Yusuf like a sword thrust and he lets out a harsh sob.

Nicolo looks distraught.

“Please.” His own voice is ragged with tears. “Please go, Yusuf.”

Yusuf stumbles blindly out the door, and staggers down the corridor. He sees nothing until he is out in the street. He turns down the side of the building, whereupon he drops to his knees. He collapses against the wall, struggling to breathe, as his heart breaks anew.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes some time for Yusuf to compose himself. Exhausted from two years of travel, beset by guilt and grief, he feels worn to his very bones. However, once he does, he has a new resolve. He might not be the one to kill Akram, he feels that Nicolo deserves that right, but that still leaves a man who chooses rape in lieu of money, and the oh so helpful individual who took his coin in the whorehouse, and whose lurid comments about Nicolo have earned him Yusuf’s wrath.

He touches his lips in recollection of the brief kisses he and Nicolo shared. He is still reeling from the reality of their reunion. It had gone very differently to how he had imagined. He had thought to find Nicolo labouring for the metalsmith. His plan had been to return the dagger and if that was refused, to settle his debt with what coin he had accumulated during his travels. He would entreat Nicolo to join him and spend however many years it might take to earn the man’s forgiveness.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have foreseen his reaction to seeing Nicolo again, nor could he ever have hoped, having acknowledged his true feelings, that they would be returned.

He loves Nicolo. True, he did not always feel as he does now. After all, it was not so long ago that he had taken great pleasure in sinking his blade between Nicolo’s ribs. Although, in all fairness, Nicolo had been equally eager to drive his sword through Yusuf. Such things were probably best forgotten in light of their new feelings for one another.

Yusuf makes an oath there and then, to do his utmost to never hurt his love again.

He finds himself a position out of sight that gives him a good view of the comings and goings in the whore house. He does not want to think about how many of the men that enter might be asking for Nicolo, but he cannot block it from his thoughts and the hours take their toll.

Even though Nicolo has absolved him of his part, Yusuf cannot help but feel culpable, and he would sooner die a thousand deaths than have Nicolo suffer, he now realises.

It is close to sunset when a group arrives that is treated differently by the workers. There is a fearful deference shown by the boy who takes their horses, and the man who had greeted Yusuf comes out and engages one of them in a conversation that involves a lot of bowing and scraping. Akram, Yusuf decides. The other well-dressed man is presumably his guest, and the remainder their retinue.

Yusuf’s fingers open and close convulsively around the hilt of his scimitar.

He cannot recall ever feeling such intense hatred for a man before. He hated the invaders, but that was a faceless, nameless emotion directed toward an army, not an individual. Even when he fought Nicolo, it was mostly confusion and rage that compelled him to strike the man down time and time again. There had been too much pain in his heart for anything else to find a foothold.

This is different. Yusuf wants to watch as this man’s life blood drains slowly out into the sand, and he wants to be the one to open up a vein. However, he also wants Nicolo to have that opportunity if he so wishes.

That leaves the well-dressed man for Yusuf. The man who feels that being the first to have Nicolo is worth a day’s ride and the settling of an unpaid debt. Yusuf clenches his teeth as he memorizes the man’s face. The man laughs at something his companion says and they step inside the building.

“Psst.”

Yusuf startles.

“Psst. Over here,” a voice calls out, softly.

He turns to look, and sees a young woman trying to conceal herself behind some barrels.

Frowning, he takes a step toward her, but stops when she fearfully steps back. He quickly takes his hand off his scimitar and raises both to try to show her that he means her no harm.

“You are Yusuf?” she asks, nervously.

He smiles gently at her.

“Yes.”

“You are Nicolo’s friend?”

“I am.”

She offers him a timid smile.

“He sent me to look for you.”

Yusuf’s heart climbs into his throat.

“Is he all right?”

“Yes, he is safe for now. But Akram has returned.”

Well, that confirms what Yusuf had already surmised. His hand finds its way back to his scimitar as he stares up at the building in horror.

“Are they with Nicolo now?”

“No, they are still talking. But Akram has given Nicolo to Mundir.”

The young woman’s face clouds over with sorrow.

“He is not a kind man.”

Yusuf doesn’t know which man she means, and he doesn’t care, because they will both be dead before they can lay a hand on Nicolo. However, if he simply runs into the whore house it will mean fighting them in that narrow labyrinth of corridors and tiny rooms, and Nicolo is unarmed. Yusuf is hit with a sudden thought and curses his own stupidity. He looks back at the young woman.

“What is your name?”

“Safya,” she tells him, shyly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Safya. Do you think you would be able to take something to Nicolo for me? Please, only agree if you can do so safely. Neither Nicolo nor I would wish to see you come to any harm.”

Safya nods.

“I am to help prepare him for Mundir. I can enter the room without them questioning it.”

Yusuf tries to clamp down on the fresh surge of rage that follows her words. He opens the bag that hangs over his shoulder and takes out the dagger, still concealed in its wrappings of cloth and twine.

“Give him this. Tell him-“ Yusuf pauses as he considers what his message should be. “Tell him I know he will find a worthy use for it.”

Looking puzzled, Safya nevertheless accepts it and hides it amongst the folds of her garments.

“Nicolo sent me to tell you he is not in the same room. Akram has moved him to his own quarters.”

“Where are they?”

She beckons him to follow her and leads him around the back of the building. A covered walkway traverses the courtyard, connecting the whore house to another building.

“That is Akram’s house.” She points to a window. “Nicolo is in that room.” She points out another. “Akram and Mundir are in there. I am to tell them when Nicolo is ready.”

She lowers her gaze sadly.

“I cannot keep them waiting too long, or they will punish me.”

“Then you should go back,” Yusuf says. He looks around the courtyard, a plan is formulating in his mind. “Safya. I am not going to let anything happen to Nicolo, but to free him might mean danger for anyone else who is in that house. Will you be able to leave once you have prepared Nicolo?”

“Yes. I have other… duties.”

It is clear from her slight hesitation what those other duties entail.

“And the others in the house? Are they loyal to Akram, or are they like you?”

“There are kitchen staff, and two who serve and carry out chores. The others are men loyal to Akram and Mundir.”

“Tell me Safya. If I set fire to this house, and the stables, and drive the horses out into the street. Will the kitchen workers and the servers be able to escape before it burns?”

Safya’s eyes widen and then her face brightens with fresh hope.

“Yes. The kitchen is at the back of the house. If you start the fire here, they will be able to flee before the flames can reach them. I will make sure the serving girls are safe.”

Yusuf frowns.

“Do not endanger yourself.”

Safya shakes her head.

“One of them is Rima, she is my cousin. She can be trusted, and she will keep Muzna safe.”

“Very well. If you are sure she can be trusted. It’s almost dark now. I will find something to start the fires. You should go.”

“There is oil, in amphorae. It’s stored in the kitchen cellar.”

Well, that would certainly be useful, but Yusuf doesn’t see how he can obtain it without discovery.

“Wait here,” she tells him, and she darts away across the courtyard before he can speak.

Yusuf is torn between waiting and wanting to start on his plan. It pains him to think what might happen to Nicolo if he tarries too long. He ducks out of sight when he sees two men; upon a closer look he sees that they are both carrying large clay amphorae.

They stop near to where Yusuf was standing.

“Yusuf?” one calls out.

“Safya sent us,” says the other.

Yusuf raises his eyes to the sky and hopes he will not regret this as he steps out from the shadows. Both men jump and then grin at him.

“We have come to help set the fires,” they tell him, with no small amount of glee.

Yusuf stares at them in disbelief.

“Nicolo is our friend too,” says the shorter of the pair. “He saved my sister when a customer would have struck her.”

“He took the blow himself,” says his companion.

They introduce themselves as Najih and Mutarrif. Mutarrif is the one with the sister. Najih appears to have a certain fondness for Nicolo if the way he coos his name is any indication. In addition to the amphorae, they have both armed themselves with knives from the kitchen.

Yusuf decides he will accept their offer but asks that they only use the knives if they must.

“Do not engage any of the men unless your life depends on it,” he cautions.

They are still spreading the oil and straw around when Safya reappears, she is easy to spot as she is carrying an oil lamp. Yusuf hurries to intercept her, fearful of the heat of the lamp getting too close to the oil and her billowing skirts.

“I gave Nicolo your gift,” she tells Yusuf, breathlessly. “He seemed very pleased. But now he is with Mundir. We must hurry. I brought this, to help the fire spread more quickly.”

Yusuf jumps when she swings the lamp toward him, mindful of the oil on him, but he takes it from her gently. It will certainly be faster than striking the flints he has in his bag.

Certainly, there is no time to waste.

He tears off strips of his own shirt and uses the canes he had found in the stable to fashion crude torches. He coats them with oil and sets them ablaze. He instructs Safya to return to the relative safety of the whorehouse, while he and his new companions begin to light the oil and straw that they have positioned up against the house and the stable.

When he throws open the courtyard gates a man comes running up to challenge him; uncertain of his allegiance, Yusuf chooses to strike him with the hilt of his scimitar. Then he orders the two men to free the horses and chase them out into the street.

Yusuf turns back to the house. He hurls a torch onto the roof, grinning when the fire quickly takes hold.

There is shouting amid the mounting chaos, and the fearful whinnying of horses as they make their way to freedom on thundering hooves. Flames and smoke spill out across the courtyard, and sparks fly up into the night sky.

Yusuf removes the last of his shirt and uses it to cover his mouth and nose. His eyes smart from the dense plumes of smoke, but he draws his blade and steps toward the house.

“Nicolo! Nicolo!”

One of Akram’s men rushes at him; Yusuf cuts him down.

“Nicolo!”

The house is completely filled with smoke. It is impossible to tell wall from door. Yusuf feels the first real stirrings of fear.

“Nicolo!” he screams, his voice is muffled by the cloth.

“Nic-“

“Sono qui, sono qui,” says a voice by his ear, and then a hand is on his arm pulling him back out of the house.

It takes him a moment to clear the smoke from his eyes. When he does, he sees the most welcome sight he has ever seen.

Nicolo, stained with soot and blood, but smiling and whole.

Yusuf embraces him, yanking down the cloth covering his mouth to drop a brief but fervent kiss on Nicolo’s.

“You are all right?” he asks, anxiously.

“I am fine, Yusuf.”

“Mundir?”

“Dead. I found a worthy use for your dagger.”

That savage little smirk thrills Yusuf to the core.

“And Akram?”

Nicolo’s mouth twists unhappily.

“I lost him in the smoke, and then the flames forced me to jump from a window. He might have burned?”

Yusuf doubts it. A snake like Akram will save his own skin at all costs.

The sound of the house collapsing as the fire tears through it makes them stagger back from the heat and falling debris.

“We need to be certain he is dead,” says Nicolo.

Yusuf doesn’t disagree, but right now he is distracted by something else.

“What are you wearing?”

It’s difficult to tell in the flickering light cast by the inferno behind them, but Yusuf thinks Nicolo might be blushing. If he is, Yusuf would hardly blame him.

Gauzy pants hang dangerously low on the man’s narrow hips; the sheer fabric would probably be transparent in better light. Intricate metal bands encircle both his wrists and the tops of his arms. But the jewellery doesn’t stop there. Silver hoops decorated with tiny crimson jewels glitter in his ears and also incredibly on his chest.

“Did they… did they pierce your nipples?”

Nicolo glowers.

“It wasn’t like I was in any position to refuse.”

“No… I wasn’t… I mean, they look good,” Yusuf finishes, lamely.

Nicolo rolls his eyes.

“Let’s just find Akram.”

He arms himself with the blade from the man Yusuf killed.

Yusuf isn’t about to let Nicolo out of his sight again; they move off together, cutting down any of Akram or Mundir’s men foolish enough to try to stop them.


	4. Chapter 4

They encounter little real opposition; many flee without engaging them. The occupants of the whore house are out in the street, staring at the flames and smoke in fear and confusion. Others have been drawn to it too, from the neighbouring streets. None seem inclined to help put out the inferno.

The crowd parts easily for Nicolo and Yusuf. People murmur and point, but no one challenges them.

A figure darts forward.

“Yusuf!”

Safya grabs his arm in her excitement, heedless of the sword he holds in his hand. “You did it!” she exclaims.

Aware Akram might still have friends in this crowd, Yusuf hushes her and keeps his own voice low.

“Where is Akram? Have you seen him?”

“Yes, he’s inside, but I think he is leaving. He is moving his gold. I haven’t seen Mundir.”

“He’s dead,” says Nicolo, flatly.

Her eyes widen; then she stands a little taller.

“Good,” she whispers. “Are you going to kill Akram too?”

Both men nod.

“Stay here,” says Yusuf. “Don’t go back inside. No matter what happens.”

They leave her in the street with another young woman, who nervously joins her as they walk away.

Yusuf is delighted to discover the doorman hasn’t yet fled. In fact, he appears to be helping Akram move his gold.

The man drops the bag he is struggling with when he sees Yusuf and Nicolo, he waves his sword at them clumsily.

“Get out!”

Yusuf laughs.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be leaving just yet. We have unfinished business here, don’t we, Nicolo?”

Nicolo smiles humourlessly.

“Now,” Yusuf continues. “Why don’t you tell me again how I can use this man’s mouth?”

He waves a hand at Nicolo, who expression promises a painful death.

The doorman stares uncomprehendingly at them both.

Yusuf decides to help with his memory.

“I can fuck his throat since he won’t bite, as he knows better,” Yusuf spits out the last word.

Understanding floods the man’s florid features. He staggers back, his grip on his sword now shaky.

“I… I was just doing my job.”

“I don’t care,” says Yusuf.

He steps forward. The man shrieks and flails at him with his blade, Yusuf sidesteps it easily and with one sweep of his scimitar opens the doorman up from shoulder to groin. He remains standing for a moment and then slumps forward into a pool of his own entrails.

Yusuf eyes the body with grim satisfaction before turning to address Nicolo.

“I must ask you. Akram? Do you wish to be the one to kill him?”

Nicolo moves his feet away from the spreading pool of blood.

“Do you want to?”

“I confess, I would very much like to be the one to end his miserable existence. But I understand if you would prefer to strike the killing blow.”

“Perhaps we can kill him together?” Nicolo suggests.

Yusuf thinks about it.

“That doesn’t seem very fair.”

Nicolo’s left eyebrow creeps up.

Yusuf scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You’re right. The man does not deserve an honourable death.”

They make their way through the ground floor of the building. There is an open trapdoor in a room at the back. Looking down the steps they can see lamplight flickering below.

Yusuf silently advocates that he will go first. Slowly, cautiously, with his scimitar raised, he descends the steps. Nicolo follows.

Akram is on his knees shovelling handfuls of coins from heavy coffers into smaller hessian bags. He looks up when he senses their approach and scrambles to his feet. He has no sword, only a dagger.

“Who-?”

His eyes narrow.

“You have come to rob me?” he growls.

It’s clearly false bravado. His gaze keeps darting to the steps. Although, if he’s waiting to be rescued, he’s going to be sorely disappointed, Yusuf thinks.

Nicolo moves to flank Yusuf.

Recognition flares in the man’s eyes.

“You! You dare to rob me! A fucking whore,” Akram snarls.

“Hold your tongue,” Yusuf snaps. “You don’t speak to him.”

“What?” The man laughs mockingly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is he yours?”

“He is no one’s. He is the kindest, bravest, most compassionate man I have ever known, and you are not worthy to even look at him. I will carve out your tongue if you speak to him again.”

Yusuf’s impassioned speech does nothing to lessen the man’s scorn, and something more calculating is creeping into his expression.

“Well, if it’s gold you want, take this.” He kicks the bag by his feet. “I have plenty.”

“We do not want your gold,” says Nicolo, coldly.

“Your life, on the other hand, we will gladly take,” says Yusuf.

The man sputters at them, seemingly lost for words. However, he proves himself to be a snake to the last as he draws a throwing knife from his clothing and hurls it at Nicolo, who does his best to avoid it.

There is little room for manoeuvring however, so while the blade misses his throat it embeds itself near his collar bone. Nicolo’s lip curls up in annoyance as he yanks it out and hurls it to the floor.

Akram stares in horror at the rapidly closing wound.

“Demons!”

Yusuf and Nicolo exchange a brief glance and then move forward as one. Yusuf opens up Akram’s throat, while Nicolo carves a deep slash across his quivering belly.

Blood sprays in an arc across the ceiling, crimson droplets falling onto some of the scattered coins. Akram is dead before he hits the ground.

Yusuf eyes his corpse with disgust and wipes a smear of the man’s blood from his arm.

Nicolo peers into one of the coffers.

“That is a lot of gold,” he comments.

“What do you want to do with it?”

“Akram did not earn this gold. The women did. It should be theirs.”

Yusuf nods.

They find a key that Akram used to secure the trapdoor and, after ensuring the house is free of any more of his men, hand it over to Safya.

When they tell her Akram is dead and explain what the key is for, her eyes fill with tears. The young woman with her almost collapses. Sayfa hugs her tightly as she turns to the two men.

“We are free. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

“You freed yourself,” says Yusuf. “Your help was invaluable to me.”

“And to me,” adds Nicolo.

Sayfa beams and squeezes her companion, who is smiling too now that some of the shock is starting to wear off.

“We will stay until you have safely retrieved the money,” Yusuf says.

“And to make sure none of Akram’s men are still around,” Nicolo says.

After washing away as much of the blood and grime as they are able, Sayfa insists on giving them a bed for the night. Exhausted from the evening’s events, they agree to spend the night in the whore house, but Yusuf balks at the thought of using Nicolo’s former room.

“Do you have another we can use?” Nicolo asks, gently.

She finds them another, it isn’t much larger, but the bed is bigger.

“Perhaps this will suit you better,” she says with a teasing smile.

Alone, the two men stand awkwardly beside the bed. They try to speak at the same time.

“Look, I can-“

“I will-“

“What?”

Nicolo clears his throat.

“I will sleep on the floor.”

Yusuf stares at him.

“Well, of course, yes, if you don’t want to… we can… But I will be the one to sleep on the floor.”

“If I don’t want to?” Nicolo repeats slowly.

Yusuf looks away and rubs the back of his neck.

“Share the bed. I understand if you do not wish to share the bed.”

“Why would I not wish to share a bed with you?” Nicolo asks, waving his hands in bewilderment.

Confused, Yusuf looks back at him.

“I don’t know?”

Nicolo mutters something and tumbles them both down onto the bed.

“Is this all right?”

Yusuf has his back to the wall and his front to Nicolo, who is pressed against him from shoulder to hip. They are both naked from the waist up, Nicolo’s nipple adornments brush against his chest.

“This is perfect,” says Yusuf, hoarsely.

Nicolo smiles and extinguishes the candle. His borrowed sword is propped against the wall beside the bed.

“I kept your sword safe,” Yusuf whispers. “Your cloak too, and your horse.”

“Thank you.”

“Your horse missed you, I think.”

“Hmm.”

“I missed you too.”

Nicolo breathes out softly.

“I know you did, Yusuf.”

Yusuf thinks he might start crying again.

“I don’t feel like I deserve your forgiveness.”

“Nor I yours,” Nicolo says.

He sounds sad and tired, and Yusuf cannot bear it.

“Let us start anew, from today.”

He can just make out Nicolo’s features in the darkness, deep set eyes wide and hopeful.

“Si, I would like that.”

Yusuf decides this is the sort of pact you should seal with a kiss. Thankfully, Nicolo seems to agree.

Yusuf runs his tongue along the seam of Nicolo’s lips, nudging them apart so he can deepen it.

Nicolo whimpers softly.

Worried, Yusuf draws back.

“Nicolo?”

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Yusuf isn’t about to refuse him, but there is something he must know first.

“My love, I have to ask, Mundir, did he-“

“No. When he touched me, I took your dagger and pushed under his ribs and into his heart,” says Nicolo.

“Oh. Well. Good.”

“Yes. Now can we never mention him again, please.”

Yusuf doesn’t have any problem with that, he much prefers to keep kissing Nicolo.

The room is stuffy and stale, the bed is uncomfortable, and Yusuf doesn’t want to think too hard about what might have taken place on it in the past. They both still carry the odour of smoke and sweat, Nicolo also has the cloying scent of the perfumed oils they rubbed into his skin. Despite this, Yusuf is harder than he has ever been in his life, and this just from a few relatively innocent kisses.

There is a part of him that wants to roll Nicolo over onto his back and rut against him until they both come. He is also very conscious that, regardless of what Mundir did or did not do, Nicolo has not had an easy time of it, and his love is probably not experienced in these matters.

“Nicolo,” he murmurs, in between kisses.

“Hmm?”

“You said that you that you are… untouched?”

This time it is Nicolo who draws back.

“Forgive me,” Yusuf continues, “I do not ask why, only that you must know I am grateful to have you in my life in whatever way pleases you. So, if this is not something you want-”

Nicolo cuts him off with a kiss and punctuates his next words with a series of them.

“This. Is. Very. Much. Something. I. Want.”

Yusuf kisses Nicolo back so enthusiastically he nearly tumbles him off the bed, which makes Nicolo snort with laughter, something Yusuf wants to hear again.

However, it does leave him curious as to the why if this is something Nicolo enjoys?

Nicolo picks up on his confusion.

“When I followed the cross, they asked me to be chaste. I no longer follow the cross, so-”

Yusuf feels him shrug. It makes no sense to him, but he certainly isn’t going to question his good fortune.

They kiss for a while longer, and then Nicolo yawns.

He blurts out an apology in his own tongue, and then again in Yusuf’s, stumbling a little over the words.

Yusuf hugs him tighter and nuzzles his cheek.

“Ssh, it’s fine. We’re both tired. Let us sleep. This is something we can continue another day.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Yusuf agrees, happily.

*******

They wake to find they have tried to get closer to one another during the night, and they are obliged to awkwardly disentangle their limbs before they can rise from the bed. Yusuf goes looking for Safya, who assures him that no one is looking for them in connection with Akram or Mundir’s deaths. Their bodies have been dumped out in the dessert, and she tells him that there is no one in the town who will miss either man.

Yusuf is still concerned what will become of Safya and the other women when he and Nicolo leave.

Safya explains that they don’t intend to stay in the town. They are going to take the gold and start new lives for themselves far from here.

“We will take care of one another,” she tells him. “In a new place we can be sisters, widows, cousins, whatever we choose. Perhaps we will take husbands. But only if we wish it.”

Yusuf smiles warmly at her.

She bites her lip uncertainly.

“Are you sure you won’t take a share of the money. Some of it is Nicolo’s by right.”

Yusuf controls a wince.

“No. Thank you, but no.”

She finds some clothing for them both, a little worn and threadbare, but still preferable to what they currently have.

Nicolo had refused to leave the room in daylight in his flimsy attire, and he accepts the bundle Yusuf holds out to him with visible relief.

They dress back-to-back. There isn’t a lot of space and when bare flesh brushes bare flesh they both freeze for a moment before continuing.

When they finally turn around Nicolo still has the hoops in his ears; Yusuf cannot help but wonder if he has left his other piercings in too. He decides against asking, everything between them feels new and fragile, and he doesn’t want to risk damaging it with an ill-judged question.

Instead, he tells Nicolo about Safya, and Nicolo smiles.

“I told you we could do good here.”

It has been so long since Yusuf felt anything other than a terrible gnawing grief, it feels strange for it to be supplanted by something else; but he recognises this as hope. Nevertheless, he is eager to put distance between themselves and this town, so they bid farewell to a teary eyed Safya and go to find their horses.

Fortunately, their mounts are still standing beside the water trough where he had tethered them.

Nicolo’s horse snickers loudly as he approaches; he rubs its velvety nose and huffs when it butts him playfully with its head.

Something settles in Yusuf’s chest as he watches Nicolo strap on his sword.

*************** 

They travel in companionable silence throughout the morning, eventually taking a break beside a gently burbling river to eat some of the supplies Safya had insisted they take with them.

Nicolo takes the opportunity to scrub himself clean of the remaining traces of oil and perfume, tugging his shirt over his head and wading out in his braies.

Yusuf cannot help but stare as the light bounces off the tiny, bejewelled hoops on Nicolo’s chest. He wills himself to look away but fares little better when he sees the wet cloth clinging to Nicolo’s lower half, perfectly outlining the rounded buttocks and surprisingly solid thighs.

Yusuf makes a show of sniffing himself. He can smell smoke and there are still itchy patches of blood from the fight, so he feels justified in taking off his own shirt to join Nicolo in the river. He is pleased to note the way Nicolo’s gaze drags itself slowly over his bare chest before Nicolo turns away, visibly flustered.

“Are you going to remove them?”

Nicolo glances over his shoulder at Yusuf.

“What?”

Yusuf points to his own chest.

“Your jewellery. Do you not wish to remove them?”

He cannot believe that Nicolo would want any reminders of that place.

Nicolo looks away before speaking, and his response is carried off by the river.

“Sorry, what?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo turns around to face Yusuf and waves a hand angrily at his chest.

“I said, I do not know how.”

Yusuf steps closer to look.

“Do they not simply unfasten?”

Nicolo’s shrug is equal parts embarrassment and annoyance.

“I don’t know. I cannot seem to work out how.”

“So, you have tried?”

Nicolo must have made the attempt when he was talking to Safya.

“Yes, I tried,” Nicolo snaps.

He stomps angrily out of the river, closely followed by a contrite Yusuf.

“I am sorry, my love, it was not my intention to draw attention to your misfortune. Especially as I had a hand in its making.”

Nicolo has seated himself on the bank; he stares up at Yusuf, squinting against the sunlight. One corner of his mouth curls up.

“It is still strange to hear you call me that.”

Yusuf sits down beside Nicolo and reaches for his hand; when Nicolo accepts it, he interlocks their fingers.

“My love?”

Nicolo nods.

“It is strange,” Yusuf agrees. “But you are my love.” He lifts Nicolo’s hand to his face and presses it to his cheek. “My life. The other half of my soul. It shames me that it took being separated from you for me to understand this. Nicolo-”

His voice breaks before he can launch into another apology.

Nicolo seems to sense this, and he places his free hand against Yusuf’s lips.

“No, Yusuf. Of the two of us, it is I who should carry the burden of shame. But we made a vow, yes? To start anew?”

He runs a gentle hand through Yusuf’s curls.

“We go forward from here. Together. Forgive me if I borrow your words but I would have you know that you are also my life, the other half of my soul. You have been for a long time, I think.”

Yusuf huffs out a shaky breath and kisses the hand still resting against his face; he leans forward and Nicolo meets him halfway.

When they sit back, both a little breathless and shy, Yusuf hears himself offering to help remove the hoops from Nicolo’s chest.

It is possible, he thinks a moment later, that he hasn’t thought this through, as he now has his hands on Nicolo’s naked chest, on his peaked nipples, while Nicolo lies stretched out on the riverbank.

But he has made the offer and he will see this through.

The hoops are small, the fastenings tight and fiddly, and as Nicolo’s chest rises and falls, Yusuf finds himself touching sun warmed skin no matter how desperately he tries to only touch the cool metal.

Nicolo hisses when he finally gets one hoop open, peering down at his chest as Yusuf carefully slides it free. A drop of blood wells up, ruby red against Nicolo’s pale olive skin.

Yusuf takes up a corner of his discarded shirt and dabs at it without thinking. The wound has already healed, and no further blood appears, but he is aware of Nicolo is staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shall I do the other one?” he asks.

“Please.”

Willing his hands to remain steady, Yusuf works on the fastening on the second loop. It proves to be even more stubborn than the first. When he tugs a little harder on it, Nicolo pulls a face he cannot decipher.

“Sorry.”

“No,” says Nicolo, his voice sounds strained, “it is fine.”

Yusuf sits up to wipe the perspiration from his eyes; it is then that he notices the tenting of Nicolo’s braies.

“Madre di Dio,” Nicolo mutters, throwing an arm up over his face. Although, this does very little to disguise the blush that’s creeping down his throat.

Yusuf isn’t sure how to respond. On the one hand he wants to reassure Nicolo that it’s perfectly fine. However, that means drawing attention to the situation, and he is hardly unaffected himself.

In the interests of fairness, he decides that he should let Nicolo know.

Nicolo lowers his arm slowly, but he doesn’t say anything as he takes in Yusuf’s aroused state.

“I am sorry,” says Yusuf. “I did not mean to, but you make these noises, and you move, and you keep breathing.”

“I keep breathing?” Nicolo repeats, slowly.

“It is very distracting,” says Yusuf, crossly. He is well aware of how ridiculous he sounds, thank you.

“Then I am sorry for breathing and distracting you,” says Nicolo.

Yusuf narrows his gaze.

“Are you mocking me?”

Nicolo’s mouth quirks.

“No?”

“You are,” says Yusuf. He clutches at his chest in fake dismay. “I try to help, and this is how you repay me.”

Nicolo makes that endearing snorting sound again as laughter escapes him.

Yusuf growls and pounces, but their play fighting shifts to something else when he finds himself half on top of Nicolo. He is about to apologise and scramble clear when Nicolo moves; the gentle rocking motion cannot be mistaken for anything else.

Yusuf groans and responds in kind, eliciting a gasp from Nicolo. After that it becomes a blur of kissing and thrusting until Nicolo cries out and heat pulses between them.

Yusuf isn’t far behind, rutting feverishly against Nicolo until he too comes with a grunt.

They lay entwined together on the riverbank, sticky and sweaty.

“I think,” says Nicolo, when he is able to speak. “We will have to go back into the river to wash.”

Yusuf kisses him.

“I think you are right.”

He gets to his feet and extends a hand to Nicolo, and they walk together down to the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it feels okay to end this story here. Although, I might write a sequel at some point. I'd like to do something from Nicolo's pov, perhaps detailing some of his experiences while he is separated from Yusuf. I hope you enjoyed this story.  
> Thank you for reading.


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